


Youth with an Opal Necklace

by Wayne_shaojie



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Artists, Alternate Universe - Renaissance, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:27:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29900394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayne_shaojie/pseuds/Wayne_shaojie
Summary: The French painter could depict a person's face in seven or eight languages that he has learned on his travels, or in a thousand different hues of colour--but now he can do nothing more than hold his own breath.(an AU of Renaissance artists, perhaps a different kind of tragedy)
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Youth with an Opal Necklace

Part1   
June 29th.1506

"Ar--thur--!!"

Arthur Kirkland frowned at the source of the noise, then put down his brush quickly and decisively, expressing utter surprise and indignation at the fact that his newly hired assistant had let the eccentric Frenchman into the room without cautious. Francis Bonnefoy came wobbly to him in a somewhat pompous purple suit, with his bright blond curls tied back casually in a ribbon and short moustache neatly trimmed.

"Why has the beard started? It sucks!"Arthur kicked an old wooden chair next to him, and the Frenchman picked it up and sat down with ease."I was told that Mr. Bonnefoy, the great painter and navigator, had completed a voyage around the Mediterranean--"

"Yes, my dear," Francis began with flattery, "During this long journey of a year and three months I have spoken of you only to the waves and the setting sun, and God knows what my days and nights have been like. I have prayed to Him all the time--"

"Stop!"Arthur's lips twitched, and with a slap he interrupted the Frenchman's eloquent speech. "Told you not to learn these stupid sentences from that poor poet Fericiano. Be brief please, don't you see I'm still working?"

"Okay, okay, that's a heartbreaking attitude. I came all the way here to give you a present!"

Francis conjured out a small wooden box of exquisite craftsmanship and held his hands under Arthur's nose.

"What's this?"Arthur took it in one hand and lowered his eyes to examine it. The surface of the wooden box was engraved with complicated and three-dimensional rose sculpture. The design was quite exotic, and the whole was heavy and had some weight.

"It's an opal necklace I bought in Istanbul. The Persian merchant says she is the most precious green crystal opal in the world, the only jewel in the whole continent. "Said Francis, proudly.

Arthur glanced at him, gave a little cough, and placidly hid the slightly upturn of his lips with the box. He opened the wooden box with his fingertips, and the unique and remote fragrance of Asian spices came out in an instant, which refreshed the English painter who had been working since early morning. It was beautiful indeed--the opal crystals were not so rich and showy as the emeralds of Lisbon, but they were so clear, and the exotic artisans added the new cut method to its profile, and the gentle emerald of the stone itself leaped into colorful fragments in the morning light. The matching silver chain's sculpture was so meticulous and dignified that even Arthur Kirkland, who had painted so many portraits of aristocrats decorated with expensive jewels, had to admit that it was probably the work of a master.

“...Thank you, I love it.”Said Arthur.

The Frenchman, with a rather festive sign of victory, raised his hand over the wooden box and carefully lifted the necklace, and the opal pendant twirled mischievously in front of Arthur.

"Try it on, I was thinking when I bought it --"

She will probably perfectly match your eyes.

Arthur did not refuse. So Francis got up and fastened the necklace on his neck, pinching some locks of the Englishman's golden hair behind his ears in the process.--and the latter, for the first time, did not stomp on the French for the gesture.

The painter in the studio wore a silver-white brocade. The bright white silk thread faintly gleamed in the middle of the solid silver-gray cloth made the young man who was already very beautiful even more eye-dazzling. It was true, Francis thought, that the young man had eyes of the same green, of the same light, and of the same rainbow-like glitter with the Opal, and that they both were now mirroring the figure before him.

The French painter could depict a person's face in seven or eight languages that he has learned on his travels, or in a thousand different hues of colour--but now he can do nothing more than hold his own breath.

Ten seconds went by, and Arthur said impatiently, "Why, it doesn't look good on me?"

'Ah--no! She's perfect for you."Francis, with a rare awkwardness, nearly tripped himself in his haste to get back into his chair. He paused for a moment, then seemed suddenly reminded of something important. "Arthur, did you just say my beard was ugly? There is no way to shave carefully on a boat! And it's obviously so handsome..."

Part2   
September 19th.1507

"Arthur, I have a surprise for you."

The Englishman nodded noncommittally, not taking his eyes off the canvas for half a second. Until a large Frenchman named Francis popped up behind him, his jagged stubble rubbing the side of Arthur's neck, and the intermittent spurts of warm air from his nostrils making the atmosphere intimate.

Fortunately, Arthur was well past the stage of blushing for the approach, and merely tapped the Frenchman's unkempt blond hair with his pen-stick to signal him to hurry to the point.

"Don't ask what it is?"

"...What is it?"

"There will be no surprise if I tell you."Francis rubbed the Englishman's head and gained his glare."Forget it. What are you drawing?"

"Commissioned by an employer in Spain, a mass scene in the Cathedral of Sevilla, called Requiem of Sevilla -- still more than half a year to go."Arthur turned back to his work. The sketch of the oil painting has been completed, and a middle-aged man with brown hair and white clothes looms to the right of the chief priest.

"Is he your employer?"Asked Francis.

"Indeed."

"What about this side?"Francis pointed to a large gap to the priest's left.

"...Not sure yet."

"Arthur," cried the Frenchman, with a pompous sigh, "you know that the ship is leaving the day after tomorrow for the mainland! That results in I have to get up early tomorrow and go to the dock, which means I can stay here with you for the last day. --so you're going to work all this day?"

"But you've been hanging around with me for more than a month." Arthur raised his head to pull Francis's hair. The Frenchman shrieked and dodged, but the Englishman pulled him off by the collar. For a moment Arthur rushed into Francis's shining amethyst-like eyes--and then, strangely, the ever shy English painter, as if driven by some mysterious force, leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

"Oh my God, darling Artie."Murmured Francis in disbelief, and without hesitation bent down to kiss him back. The great difference in size between them made it easy for the Frenchman to lift Arthur by the waist from his chair, while the red-faced Englishman, under the storm of attack, could only murmur unthreatening orders that he should be careful not to knock things over.

Part3   
March 3rd.1508

"Dear Arthur,  
Is the weather still as bad in London? By the time you read this letter, I should have been aboard the merchant ship Dover, which was sailing to the new world in America. This opportunity is so rare that I don't have time to say goodbye to you face to face. I hope you will forgive my sins.  
Remember that opal necklace I gave you two years ago? She represents my thoughts of you and takes my place of being with you. I heard that you are planning to go to Paris with Antonio. Please do drop by my studio, where your surprise has been waiting for a long time.  
With love,  
Francis Bonnefoy"

Arthur Krikland's assistant dutifully delivered the far-off letter from the other side of the Channel to his employer, then watched as the painter, who had always been a gentleman, gradually lost his mind. Arthur fumed and coherently wrote through a page, but hesitatingly scribbled at the end and the sign-off several times before he finished it.

"Foolish Francis:  
The weather in London is very bad. I cannot find words to describe your impulsiveness and assertiveness. Martin Waldseemüller's map had only recently been printed in England, and this route was full of uncharted risks. For God's sake, I will never forgive you. May Lord reclaim your excess spirit of adventure soon.  
The necklace is just as beautiful as it was two years ago, but I swear I'll throw her into the Seine in front of you when you get back. The trip with Antonio is on the agenda, and my little expectation of your surprise is now being overshadowed by anger.  
Remember to be careful. I also prepared a gift for you in the studio.  
With love (scratched)  
Waiting for your return (scratched)  
Damn it or whatever,  
Arthur Kirkland"

Part4   
September 29th.2020

The art teacher on the platform suddenly went silent. The students hold their breath for a long time but did not receive the following, and finally the female students in the front row could not bear to raise her hand, "Teacher, and then?"

"Then, the Dover, a merchant ship bound for America, ran aground off Bermuda and sank. No one survived. The amazing French painter Francis Bonnefoy died at the age of 30."

The art teacher clicks the mouse and brings up the next page of PPT. A brightly colored portrait of a person appeared on a large screen at the front of the classroom.

"His friends and family were sorting through his belongings in his studio when they discovered this portrait -- known as Youth with the Opal Necklace. It is said that the painting was found in the middle of the whole studio. After extensive research, experts in Western art history suspect that the figure in the painting was an English contemporary of Bonnefoy's, Arthur Kirkland. Speaking of Kirkland, let's take a look at the most famous work of his career."

Another oil painting flashed up next to Youth with an Opal Necklace."-- Requiem of Sevilla. The exquisite composition and lifelike characters are among the best Renaissance description of religious rites. Now I'll give you two minutes to appreciate these two paintings, and then I'll talk to some students about their opinions."

Then the students looked at the two paintings with all their attention. Bonnefoy's works often show the romance and passion of France freely. He used the most gorgeous gold and the most vivid green to describe the hair and eyes of a young man, and tried his best to outline his extraordinary fair face. There is no smile on the young man's face, and the corners of his mouth are slightly sinking. Miraculously, however, the viewer can feel that his mood at the moment does not seem depressed, but rather relaxed. The wonderful place is the echo between the opal necklace on the chest of the young man and the whole picture. The delicate and complicated silver chain, glittering with translucent and gorgeous gem--It is clearly a rare treasure, but it just doesn't hide the brilliance of the young man, and at the same time it plays a role in strengthening the composition and enriching the painting. When the viewer is looking at the picture, the bright eyes of the young man are mirrored by the luster of the stone, and they are full of vitality and dreaminess, as if the painter of five hundred years ago were really sitting before the viewer.

Kirkland's work tends to be more conservative, with precise, refined colors and an emphasis on the overall atmosphere. The interior of the Gothic church is solemn and beautiful. The light of the holy light shines through the robes of the chief priest and spreads to the believers on both sides. On the priest's right is a middle-aged man with brown hair, and on his left is a young man with blond curly hair. His faciel features are deep, his figure is tall and straight, and his whole body covered in a hazy halo. The chubby angel fluttered noiselessly at his side, and the young man's eyes closed, his light-coloured lashes glittering with brilliance. Paintings carefully kept by the museum never fade, so those white and gold never fade. They are pure and florid, like the moonlight on the Atlantic Ocean that has been dancing for five centuries.

**Author's Note:**

> Frist attempt on writing in English, sorry for the inappropriate expressions and possible mistakes. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
